


Broken Speech

by Aiza_60



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood: Lost Days
Genre: Batman: Red Hood - The Lost Days, Gen, Jason Todd & Damian Wayne Bonding, Jason Todd and Damian Wayne Meet in the League of Assassins, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:54:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24050026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aiza_60/pseuds/Aiza_60
Summary: Damian gets a new caretaker, a young man named Jay, while in the League, which is ridiculous. He is an al-Ghul. He does not need a caregiver.He doesn't need Jay.  But maybe, Jay needs him.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 202





	Broken Speech

Memory was a fleeting thing, nowadays. Whatever rose in that murky abyss drifted away just as quickly. It may have been a small mercy. Jay didn’t know. All he knew was _now_. And _now_ was being shut up in the same elaborate room when the Mistress had no use for him. 

The Mistress talked to him, sometimes. Sometimes it was idle conversation. Other times it was commands. Most times it was “ _Talk_.”

He could, he knew that. But every time he tried, his mouth would be dry and his mind blank and the words never came. 

The Mistress tried to help him. She really did. She gave him teachers. They died too easily. So the Mistress gave him books. They were left unread. Not because of lack of want, but he simply couldn’t. He knew how, but his body refused to listen to him once again. 

As so he was stuck with the fleeting library of his own memory. Not that there was much he could recall, anyway. 

Today, the Mistress came to visit him. “You will watch my son, Jay.” A command. She was in no rush to speak, and the words flowed like sweet honey. Jay envied her words. He so wanted them, but they refused to let him hold onto them. “He will be your brother. Treat him as such.”

From the corner of his eye, Jay watched a small child stride into the room sourly. 

“Be good, Damian,” the Mistress called as she left. 

The boy tutted. “I do not require a caretaker,” he scoffed, mostly to himself. He turned to Jay. “And you are _not_ my brother.”

Jay kept staring ahead blankly. He didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Why had the Mistress left her son with him? He kept staring. 

“Well say _something_ , you incompetent fool!” The boy leapt at him, all intentions turned towards attack. He was slammed to the floor the next moment. It was all reflex to Jay. He hadn’t meant to flip the boy, but his mind and body seemed to be twain nowadays. 

The boy growled, but didn’t attack again. Instead, he flopped down onto a cushion near Jay. Close enough to observe him if necessary. He grabbed a book that he had brought with him and began to read. 

Jay watched, not having moved a muscle since putting the boy in his place. The stared at the cover of the book, in some vain effort to absorb its knowledge. He yearned for it, but like many things, it didn’t seem to enter his mind. 

An hour passed. The boy continued reading. Jay remained frozen. The boy looked up suddenly. “Mother mentioned you were from America. I am currently studying American literature. It may be a clumsy language, but there’s hope yet. Would you like to hear a poem?” Despite the boy’s friendly words, his tone was frosty. The Mistress likely told the child to speak to him. He would have remained silent otherwise. 

But– at the chance to hear something that would feed his mind, Jay fought to speak. _Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes_. _Please_. No words came. His face remained blank. The boy looked at him, huffed, and began reading anyway. 

“Do not go gentle into that good night.” The words were music to Jay’s mind. He savoured each syllable slowly, picking it apart and inspecting it. “Old age should burn and rage at close of day.” Jay found himself reading along in his mind. He knew them! The words! From the before– before memory. “Rage, rage, against the dying of the light.” 

Jay’s vision became blurry. Those weren’t tears, were they? But he was grateful _so grateful_ that the boy had read. That he had reminded Jay of the before. Of the warmth in a vast library. Of kind voices speaking to him as his fingers brushed ageing paper. And that was something he would have a hard time repaying. 

___________

Damian al-Ghul did not require a _caregiver_. He was six years old. He could take care of himself. He had thought that Mother would understand that by now. But it seemed she didn’t, even after his previous caretakers had vanished under mysterious circumstances. 

It wasn’t just this new caretaker that irked him. Mother and insisted that he was his brother. _Ridiculous_! If Damian had a brother, he would have known. When he first met Jay, he almost laughed. Jay couldn’t even be considered qualified to watch a chicken. The boy’s expression remained blank the entire time he was spoken to. Damian expected some sort of reaction, at least, but Jay gave none.

That is, until Damian attacked him. Jay was proficient in combat, Damian gave him that. Not that the boy could do much else. Perhaps that was why Mother had chosen him. 

Damian resigned himself to reading under Jay’s watch. At remembering Mother’s request to talk to Jay, he figured he should read aloud. That technically counted as speech. Then Damian would not have to be distracted from his studies by idle, one-sided conversations. 

Jay seemed... happier after Damian read. Which was odd, because he had not previously shown any hint of emotion. Damian decided to disregard it. 

Much to his annoyance, he was required to stay with Jay the next day as well. And the next week. By the time the end of the month rolled around, Damian had consistently spent most afternoons in Jay’s lonely chamber. 

It was a late Friday afternoon when Damian returned to Jay’s room, carrying two steaming cups of tea. They smelled sweet and floral, reminding Damian of Mother’s perfume. He set one cup in front of Jay, knowing the boy would drink when he wanted to. 

“I shall resume our reading of Hamlet,” Damian informed him. “I suggest you drink your tea whilst I read, lest it go cold again, Jay.” 

Had Damian not spent the past month with him, he would have missed the slight smile that tugged on the boy’s lips. Satisfied that Jay was listening, Damian began reading. His words were clear and each character seemed to speak through him when he read. “To die, to sleep –/ To sleep, perchance to dream – ay, there’s the rub,/ For in this sleep of death what dreams may come…”

Jay, who had been nursing his cup of tea, stopped suddenly at the line. Damian had learned to take his subtle clues at communication rather seriously, so he closed the book. 

“What is it Jay?”

The boy’s eyes snapped around the room wildly, as if he did not recognize the place. It was vastly different from his usual blank, placid expression. He opened his mouth to speak. “Br’ce?” His words were garbled and his voice was raspy from disuse, but it was speech all the same. 

Damian sucked in a breath. Jay was talking. _Talking_. Mother would be ecstatic. “No Jay, I am–”

“Day’m’n.” Jay’s answer has surprised him. But Jay knew his name. He knew Damian! Mother would be ecstatic. 

“Yes, J- akhi,” Damian beamed. Jay, Damian supposed, was his brother. Mother had been right. he wouldn’t have been particularly concerned about Jay otherwise. 

He ceased his reading for the day and in favour of encouraging Jay to speak again. Another word, for Mother, he pleaded. 

By the time the last of the sun’s rays were starting to disappear from the horizon did Mother arrive, as she always did. Damian did not need to be coddled, but he appreciated when she came to see him. Damian had made no progress with Jay, but he was still excited to share the news. 

“Mother, i have most excellent–” he stopped upon seeing Mother’s grave expression. “What is it Mother?” 

Mother opened a bag, filled with servant’s garments. “Help me dress Jay, child. You shall remain here until I come to collect you afterward.” 

Damian obeyed quickly. He was never one to question his Mother’s orders. However, something felt off. “ Jay spoke to me today,” he finally said. 

Mother raised an eyebrow. “Did he now, dearest?”

“Yes. It was not much, but I believe he said both mine and Father’s names.” 

She smiled sadly. “I am glad Jay was able to talk to you. But your brother has been able to say your Father’s name ever since he came to stay with us. However, your name _is_ progress, I am sure.” She bent down to kiss Damian’s forehead before leading Jay out the door. “Sleep well, my pride.” With that, Mother left Damian alone with a sneaking suspicion that something wasn’t quite right.

Damian slipped out of his room and followed Jay’s lumbering figure in the poorly-lit hall. He lagged several feet behind Mother, which worked to Damian’s advantage. 

The sinking feeling in Damian’s stomach worsened as Mother led Jay farther and farther down into the compound. There was only one place they could be going. The Lazarus Pit.

Grandfather had acquainted Damian with its waters when Damian was three. Needless to say, it was not his most pleasant memory. And Damian suspected for someone in Jay’s condition, the experience would be even worse.

Damian did not want to watch his brother go stumbling into that green crater, but he found himself unable to tear his eyes away. Mother had not even led Jay down half of the final staircase when she pushed him. Jay always fought back at a menacing touch, but never when it was Mother. The boy teetered at the edge of the platform before sinking into that ancient lake. 

Damian’s breath caught in his chest. He couldn’t breathe. How could he? How could he when his _brother_ had been thrown into a pit that was the very mother of insanity? 

Time seemed to pass sluggishly. It was forever that Jay rested at the bottom of the pit. Then, hands started to claw their way to the surface. Their body and voice soon followed. Damian thought he was prepared. He wasn’t. 

It was almost absurd. The silence that embroidered Jay’s fall could have been broken by a mere pin-drop. Upon his emergence, however– Damian pressed his hands to his ears. It was all he could do to block out Jay’s heart-wrenching cries. 

It was worlds away from the raspy, stuttering voice those same lips had uttered hours before. Even from a distance, Damian could see the toxic green eyes the pit had cursed Jay with. He knew the rage the pit brought all too well. 

Dusk had fully disappeared when Damian returned to Jay’s empty quarters. There was nothing Damian could do for him at the moment but wait. 

He thought back to their first meeting. What was the poem he had read to Jay? Its words taunted him, but he could not seem to get the nagging thought out of his mind. Damian found the book and opened it, his eyes flitting to the final line. The irony was not lost on him. It could be all that was left of Jay now, if they weren’t lucky. 

Yet Damian had a strange urge to read the line aloud. His fingers brushed over the words, reminiscing all those afternoons he spent with Jay. Afternoons he may not get again. “Rage, rage, against the dying of the light.” 

**Author's Note:**

> The poem in this part is "Do not go gentle into that good night" by Dylan Thomas


End file.
